Phil Tennant
Bio
Londoner living in Perth WA. Divorced, two adult kids. My dog Nugget is my best mate. Always enjoyed reading & writing; hugely influenced by Stephen King's Salem's Lot. Write mainly Horror & Comedy or a combination of both.
Stories (23)
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Forever
My name is Professor Edwin Price, and I am currently on the verge of a breakthrough in finding a cure for the AIDS virus. However, things have been complicated by the reappearance in my life of a young man called Barnaby Sedge, whose body now lies at my feet. It is the third separate occasion our paths have crossed over the past twenty or so years and to fully understand his effect on my life, I will start with our first meeting in 1979. Barnaby was a first-year medical student who had been sent to me for extra tuition in the evenings. He was struggling with haematology and even back then I was considered the foremost expert in the field. I never usually took on private tutoring as I found it interfered with my research time too much. In this case however it was for an old friend to whom I owed a favour, so I agreed. My colleague said he had seen great potential in this young man and wanted him to have every opportunity to fulfil this. Barnaby Sedge presented himself at precisely the allotted time outside my office door, and unlike most of his generation, he gave two firm wraps on the old oak door and then waited for a response.
By Phil Tennant8 months ago in Horror
The Reluctant Guest
Heavy velvet curtains blocked out any external light, be it artificial or natural, from the large bedroom. Internally there was very little illumination to speak of, only a thin crack of yellow electric light from some unknown source, fought its way beneath the rooms studded oak door. Surprisingly however, it illuminated half of the room, albeit very dully. Some pieces of furniture appeared only as dark amorphous blobs in the gloom. Hugo lay in bed, unable to sleep in these strange surroundings. His eyes darted around the room, checking, and rechecking the various large shadows that merged with the darkness. He was trying to remember if the shadows matched the positions the furniture had been in when he had first entered the room or not. One particular shape looked suspiciously like a stone gargoyle, hunched in the darkness, waiting to pounce. However, in hindsight it was probably the ornate mahogany dressing table that he had noticed on arrival. It just seemed to be in a slightly different place to where he remembered it being, a bit closer to the fire perhaps. Come to think of it, had the fireplace been that big? Hugo shifted his position for a better look, cursing the lack of a bedside lamp, or even torch, in the room. The light switch was right the way across the room, about thirty feet, so he could not turn it on and off as he pleased and leaving it on all night was out of the question. He hadn't done that since he was a child, and these days struggled to sleep if it wasn’t dark. Still, he was sorely tempted.
By Phil Tennant8 months ago in Horror
Death Inc.
Technically, Jerry Carroll had been dead for seven days now. That was, dead in every conventional medical sense of the word anyway. It had all come as a bit of a shock to him, as you would imagine. Firstly, he had been somewhat down on his luck anyway, but being killed had really been a downer. Secondly, his death had been a huge mistake and it should have been someone else who’d copped it. He attempted a heavy sigh as he pondered this, but it sounded more like he was blowing a raspberry, as the flap of skin where his throat had been cut vibrated noisily in the escaping rush of air. Typically, he had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had gotten involved with the wrong people. There was no denying he had been involved with some slightly dodgy dealings but had never intentionally hurt anyone and certainly didn’t deserve this. It should have been one of the other couriers, Al the Snake, who went on this particular delivery. Admittedly his memory was patchy at best; but now it was cracking up like an iceberg drifting further and further into warm waters.
By Phil Tennant8 months ago in Horror
Reapers
‘What the fuck do you mean I’m dead? Is that supposed to be some kind of a threat?’ Graham hated it when they reacted like this, it always made things very awkward. He took a step back and assessed the man, who he knew to be John Reginald Daley. Mr Daley appeared to be in his mid-thirties, (Graham knew he was actually 38 years 7 months and 3 days old) with blond hair, which looked like it had recently been completely shaven. His features seemed to be vying for room at the centre of his face, as if he had inhaled too heavily through his nose, and sucked them closer in. The nose itself had been broken more than once, giving him the overall appearance of an ex-boxer or street thug. He was in fact both. His stance was aggressive, chest thrust out, hands clenched into fists, elbows slightly bent, ready to attack. Graham could smell the testosterone coming from him in waves. The only thing that shattered the image was the gaping, bloody hole on the right side of Daley’s head, which Graham could have fit his entire fist in. Mr Daley appeared to be blissfully unaware of his condition.
By Phil Tennant8 months ago in Horror
The Tree Of Strange Fruits
The creature made a bizarre sight, as it danced gleefully around the trunk of the large pear tree. Skinny as a rake and dressed only in a grubby loin cloth, it skipped and hopped on hooved feet, first one way and then the other, chortling and singing as it went. A small entourage of insects floated lazily along with him, attracted by his pungent odour. As he pranced to a fro, his long, greasy, grey hair, platted into a tail, bounced between a pair of scrawny, leathery wings. Through the thin layer of hair on its head, a pair of black, curved horns protruded ten centimetres into the air. Its goat like face was complete with a triangular goatee beard and angular yellow eyes. As he sung his song, a forked tongue flickered in and out between blackened lips, tasting the air like a snake.
By Phil Tennant8 months ago in Horror
Double Exposure
Sandra sat in her car composing herself for several minutes before opening the door to the summer’s heat and stepping out onto the sun-baked pavement. She was an attractive brunette and to her pleasure, most people guessed her age at around the mid-thirties, almost ten less than her actual years. Although anxious, her pretty face showed little of her nervousness, a trace of a smile playing across her lipstick reddened lips. Only her deep brown eyes, darting around to take in the unfamiliar surroundings, showed anything of her true emotions. Beneath her plain white blouse, her heart was racing, and as she opened the gate to number 23 and started up the path, it seemed to accelerate another few degrees. The semi-detached house she approached could have been any house, in any street, in any number of London’s suburbs. It looked well maintained; the gardens were neat and tidy, the flower beds weeded, the lawns trimmed. Swallowing deeply, almost theatrically, Sandra pulled back the brass door knocker and rapped it twice against the Oxford blue door. She heard sounds coming from deep in the house and then footsteps approaching the front door.
By Phil Tennant3 years ago in Fiction
Xander & Kevin Save The F*cking Universe
Wednesday had started as most other Wednesdays usually did for Xander. His alarm went off at 6:31am, (he had a thing about prime numbers, so had set his alarm one minute later than normal, at 631.) He did his general ablutions, dressed, and went into his kitchen to put the coffee machine on. He turned on the digital radio which sat on his benchtop for some background noise, then put some bread in the toaster. Before he knew it, the radio announcer introduced the 7:30 news and it was time to go. He grabbed his lunch from the fridge, chucked it unceremoniously into his back pack, along with his keys and phone, then left for work.
By Phil Tennant3 years ago in Fiction
When Worlds COllide
Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Officer Andreas looked up and sighed. The world never used to be like this, before the incursion. He glanced sideways at his partner, Rannell, and she was watching him, watching the sky. She blinked, her verical eyelids flashing across those creepy, goatlike pupils. He smiled weakly at her, and looked toward the ground. He had come to accept Rannell, but the blinking thing still freaked him out a little bit.
By Phil Tennant3 years ago in Fiction
Divine Intervention
The two men strolled along the idyllic beach side by side, in an amicable silence. Gentle waves would occasionally reach their feet before retreating across the fine white sand. They were completely alone. No children frolicking in the crystal-clear waters, no couples lying in the shade of the palm trees which lined the beach. The sun sent down a warm but pleasant heat, not a cloud in the sky or the murmur of a breeze.
By Phil Tennant3 years ago in Families
